


The One with Bucky's Arm

by Ashtiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, M/M, implied Bucky/Steve - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:27:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtiel/pseuds/Ashtiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first thing Bucky looked at after coming off the ice was Steve’s face. The second was his arm."</p><p>In which nothing hurts, and T'Challa is a little shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with Bucky's Arm

The first thing Bucky looked at after coming off the ice was Steve’s face. The second was his arm.  
“What the fuck is this?” he asked, slurring the s’s. Some of the gathered scientists shuffled their feet and looked down at their squeaky-clean shoes.  
“Hey, Buck, take it easy,” Steve said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just a temporary replacement.”  
“It’s hot pink.”  
“Like I said-”  
“I can’t bend it.”  
“It’s just-”  
Bucky squinted down at the arm. “Is this from a fucking mannequin? A female mannequin?”  
“Sir, it’s advised that you remain calm so that your body can adjust to-” one of the scientists started.  
Bucky swung the mannequin arm at him, all of it moving at once, like the limb of a cheap toy. “Get this the fuck off of me.”  
“We don’t have another-”  
Bucky looked him dead in the eye. “Take. This. The. Fuck. Off. Of. Me.”  
A gaggle of scientists edged forward and tentatively unstrapped the arm from the harness that hung over his shoulder.  
Hidden in the shadow of a doorway, T’Challa laughed. And laughed. And laughed. If anyone had been close enough to hear him, they might’ve even described it as giggling.

Between curative sessions, Bucky requested to be put back on ice. The scientists warned him against it, emphasizing how harmful it was for his body to go through such a stressful transition once a week, but he ignored them.  
Really, it made things too easy for T’Challa. Late at night, when all the scientists had gone home and his advisers thought him asleep, he snuck out the window of his bedroom, he said hello to the woman who guarded the lab, and made his way into the chamber where Bucky was held. With Bucky literally frozen solid, there was no danger of him waking up while he worked. So, a few minutes after sneaking in, T’Challa walked back out, laughing hard enough to make himself dizzy.

Bucky, upon being taken out of cryo, was not amused. Steve always sat on a stool in front of the chamber, so Bucky could have a friendly face to focus on, but Bucky preferred using him as a sounding board.  
“A toilet brush.” Bucky said, his voice emotionless. This time, when he ripped the makeshift arm off, he almost took the harness with it.

“I can’t even tell what this is,” Bucky said another time.  
“I believe, sir, that that’s a Barbie doll arm,” one of the scientists said.  
Bucky sighed deeply enough to exhale his lungs.

“Seriously? Who the fuck has this much time?” Bucky asked. He glared at Steve, who was trying to muffle his laughter by biting his tongue. It wasn’t working.  
“This has to be at least five hundred pasta shells,” Bucky said, poking the macaroni-art arm with his good hand. “And look, there’re even fingers. What the fuck?”  
The scientists put the arm on a table off to the side. That night, T’Challa smuggled it back into his room. It’d taken hours to make, damn it.

The last time Bucky came out of cryo, he didn’t even bother looking at Steve before he looked down at his arm, expecting a plastic horse or a stick or some other completely random shit, but he found none of those things. His arm had been replaced with… another metal arm. He flexed his fingers and bent his elbow, and his metal arm moved just as quickly and deftly as his real one.  
He squinted at Steve. “What’s the catch?” he asked.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, but his cheeks were red, and Bucky was reminded yet again what a shit liar he was.  
He examined the arm, starting with the fingers and moving up, and made it almost all the way to the top of his shoulder before he realized what the problem was. Where the communist star on his old arm had been, there was now a huge, red heart.  
“I’m going to fucking kill someone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry.


End file.
